Mirage
by Youngest Ones Rule
Summary: Is it real or only a fevered imagination? How can you fight it, if even the Winchester's don't believe it exists? AU, set season one... Comments are greatly appreciated!
1. Chapter 1

**Hello. Thanks for checking this story out. It was the very FIRST SPN story I wrote after watching some of season one. I had no idea what was going on in season two when it was written. (Ha Ha) The villian orignally appeared as a clown... and Sam liked it! And John, was a caring father... Shows what I knew at the time. It has since been rewritten. (grin) Mostly... **

**As a matter of fact, most of it was written on a crowded train through Northern Germany. This is dedicated to my friend, Silwyna, who got me hooked on this show. (I do curse her some days...) **

**It would be set about 6 months into the first season. **

**Replies are greatly appreciated. I hope you enjoy.**

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**Mirage**

Somewhere between a balloon burst and a gun shot-- that's what the pop sounded like to Sam Winchester as it startled him awake. He winced as he straightened. He'd been slumped against the passenger door.

The classic black car shook violently, but Dean Winchester, ever aware of potential danger, remained in complete control as he guided the Impala to the side of the road.

"Dad's gonna kick your ass when we find him," sneered Sam as the engine stopped. "You're not taking care of her. Maybe he'll take it away? Give her to me?"

Dean glared at his younger brother. His jaw was tight as he replied. "Like I can control a flat tire."

Sam smiled confidently. "I told you I saw a bulge in the tire."

"Like you'd know what a tired bulge looked like." Dean growled and jumped out of the car to inspect the damage. Sam was quickly at his side.

Sam sighed and proceeded to open the trunk. He began removing various layers of armament, the tools of their trade. "It'll take forever to get at the spare." He stopped and turned to his brother. "A little help here?"

Dean swallowed hard and attempted to retain his typical cocky façade. Unfortunately, his voice came out as a whisper. "There isn't one."

Sam had already come to that conclusion. "There isn't one." He starred at his older brother dumbfounded.

Dean gestured at the layers of weapons. "Sammy, this stuff takes up a lot of room. Something has to give. The car is only so big… Especially with you, the gigantor along."

Sam wasn't sure if he was angrier at the situation or his brother's continued insistence on using his childhood nickname or any other insult to his height, so he simply said nothing. He waited however, for Dean's response… his next big idea.

Dean laughed. "Hey, no problem geek. The next town's only two miles away. You can jog over and send a tow truck back."

Sam's expression remained unchanged. He pulled his cell phone from his jacket pocket. "Or we can just call one?"

Dean smiled broadly. "No service." He'd checked while Sam dug through the trunk.

Sam double checked his own phone and groaned. "Why don't you head to town? You're the one who ignored me."

Dean's eyes narrowed. "I'm older and I ordered you to do it. As my little brother, that's your job. The rules say."

Sam's eyes flashed with anger, but before he could respond, Dean added.

"Besides, you're the health nut of the family. I thought you'd enjoy the exercise while I guard the car." He ended with a grin that dared Sam to challenge him.

Sam merely rolled his eyes and scowled. He checked his pockets briefly and started off down the road.

Dean called out to him to stop, which Sam did, but didn't turn back. Dean jogged up to him. "What are you packing?"

Sam pursed his lips and refused to answer.

Dean wasn't fazed. He lifted each side of his brother's jacket, finding him unarmed. He scowled. "Haven't you learned anything? You're heading into a strange town unarmed?"

"I never pack unless we're working. You know that." Sam straightened his back in his own defense.

Dean shook his head. "That must be because I'm always here to protect you." He held out a hand gun, "here."

Sam glared. "If I take that gun I'm going to shoot you with it." He raised an eyebrow in anticipation of Dean's response.

Dean held up his free hand. "Hey, just trying to help. Don't say I didn't warn you. This might be the work of…"

"I warned YOU about the tire. How can that be… ARGH!" Sam waved his brother away and turned back to his journey.

**…….. SPN……..**

"Stop pouting." Sam couldn't help but grin. It was risky in his brother's current state, but better than 'I told you so.'

Dean glared at him and the ting of his spoon along the edge of his coffee cup increased. "I am NOT pouting, so you can just shut up."

Sam considered an additional annoying statement, but thought better. Dean loved his car. He took any issue involving it very personally and woe to anyone who might harm it. He opted for a more sympathetic approach, even though deep down he knew it was useless. "At least the new tires will be here by morning. It could have been worse." Sam flashed his best, innocent baby brother grin.

It was a mistake.

"Are you kidding me? I hope you enjoyed your meal. It's the last one you're going to get until I can drum up some money. That guy totally ripped me off. There's no way two tires could cost $600."

As a child, Sam might have recoiled from his brother's anger, but his pride prevented such steps now. He'd fought too hard to forge his own identity, separate from his family. Softly he added, "It's a classic car."

"He should have repaired it." He glared at his brother. "But someone had to go ahead and agree to new ones."

Sam's patience and sympathy came to an end. "Heaven forbid all the peel-outs you insist on when you drive should weaken the tires… much less the thousands of miles we've driven in the past six months alone."

Dean never liked defeat, much less at his brother's hand. "I'm heading back to the hotel. At least we can use the opportunity to catch up on some sleep."

Sam shook his head in disbelief at his brother's sudden logic. As he watched him go, he hoped he would indeed sleep. Then the argument wouldn't need to continue.

The waitress came by and offered him a refill, which he accepted. Sam studied the meager occupants of the café. "I thought the sign said there were 10,000 citizens. It seems pretty quiet for the dinner hour?"

Sam wanted to slap himself. It seemed to him anyone with the name Winchester had an inherent and undeniable need to find evil in everything. It was annoying. No wonder he'd wanted to study the rational world of law.

The older woman thought a moment and then glanced around herself before answering. "People seem to stick around their own homes these days."

"Why so?" It seemed a particular answer to Sam.

She raised an eyebrow at him. "You ever heard of something called a family dinner? They say it's good for kids." She smiled and slipped the bill on the table.

Sam chuckled at the thought of a Winchester family dinner. They'd be lucky if silverware was used to eat food and someone would certainly be cleaning a gun or sharpening a knife.

After roaming the streets of town for another couple of hours, Sam decided Dean might be right after all. A little extra sleep wouldn't hurt either of them.

He breathed a sigh of relief to find Dean fast asleep. Slipping off his jeans, he climbed into bed in his boxers and t-shirt. He drifted quickly to sleep.

Dean opened one eye and watched with relief as his brother drifted off to sleep. He'd spent most of his life with one job, seeing to his younger brother's welfare. Sam's years at college had been hell. He'd learned to live with a constant feeling of unease. Since Sam's return to the family business, willingly or otherwise, he'd felt more relaxed than he had in years. He again felt a clear purpose and it suited him well.

**…….. SPN……..**

Sam had grown used to the tragic images of his dreams. Some nights they were vivid enough to wake him. He would tremble for a few minutes until the avalanche of emotions passed and then distract himself until morning. He never tried to regain sleep.

Tonight was different. There were no clear images or faces. Lights, colors, and shapes seemed to blur before his eyes. In his dream, he would reach out to touch them, but failed to grasp anything.

There was no fear attached to the images, exactly the opposite. They brought him comfort. He felt again like a young, inquisitive boy. Best of all, he felt innocent.

He should have known it wouldn't last. It never did.

One by one the images seemed to disappear or blend together. Soon a figure had taken shape in the distance of his dream. Sam was still not afraid. He kept imagining an elf or fairy or other such playful creature.

Then another image appeared; one that frightened him a bit as it made no sense in the context. It was clearly Dean asleep in the next bed. The dream figure gestured to Dean as if inviting him to play. Sam felt an overwhelming desire of selfishness. He wanted to continue to enjoy the figures alone. He waved it away from the image of his brother. He didn't want to share. Dean didn't deserve the fun.

It didn't work. The shape drifted closer to Dean.

Angered at his impending loss, Sam moved his dream body to intercept. He would keep this dream to himself. As he neared the shape, he slowed down. Something wasn't quite right. Proximity revealed not a comfortable fairy or even a semi-scary elf, rather a sickly old man.

What Sam had once thought were colorful polka dots were really pockets of red and gold pus dotting his body. The man's skin dropped in folds from his angular bones.

This monster was not harmless and now it was heading directly for Dean.

Sam saw only one chance to save his brother. With adrenalin reinforced strength, he lunged at his brother in order to come between Dean and the danger. He landed with a thud and shifted to kick the old man away.

He wasn't fast enough.

Sam felt the old man's cold, clammy touch on his arm as he fought to move aside. And then he suddenly felt nothing.

**…….. SPN……..**

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?" Dean shouted as Sam sprawled across him. "Get off me! Have you gone nuts?"

Sam opened his eyes and found himself laying across Dean's bed, but not for long. With a hefty shove, Dean pushed his brother onto the floor. "Can't a man get some sleep without his brother attacking him?"

"I was dreaming," stammered Sam. "It felt so real." He sat on the floor, dazed.

"About what? The WWE? This ain't a wrestling ring little brother." Dean rolled over and finally took a good look at Sam. "Hey, were you dreaming or having a nightmare? Should I pack up? Where are we headed?"

Sam shook his head, finally feeling more like himself. "No… it's fine. It was just a regular old nightmare." Despite the calming of his spirit, his voice came out as a whisper.

Dean ran his hand across his face to buy time. What was he supposed to say or do? "Look, I'm awake now and you don't look real convinced. Why don't you tell me about it and I'll decide."

Sam pulled himself back into his own bed. "No, it was just… stupid. Besides, it happened just now, so it's over."

Dean's eyes narrowed in curiosity. "What do you mean 'just now'?"

Sam sighed, knowing full well Dean wouldn't let it drop. His voice already held the 'concerned brother' twinge. "In my dream, it was this sick thing… literally."

"What kind of sick thing? We've encountered lots. Wind Walker? Reeper?" Dean hoped it wasn't a Shapeshifter. He just wasn't in the mood to fight that battle again.

Sam glared at Dean for interrupting and remained silent a few extra beats to make his point. "At first I thought it was nice, friendly even—but when I got closer… It was pretty hideous—all sickly and gross."

"Ok, so new demon. Where was it and how do we kill it?" Dean asked. His voice was filled with both sincerity and excitement.

Sam chuckled, finally feeling calm. "No… it's… it was going after you and that's when I dove to push you out of the way."

Dean's pride didn't like being saved by his brother, even in a dream. He also wasn't yet convinced it was just a dream, especially since he'd been the target. "Sounds legit to me. Give me more to go on though."

Sam raised his hands and waved Dean off. "No really! It wasn't like the other visions. I think it was really just a nightmare, like normal people get."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Since when are you normal, freak?"

Sam was ready. "I'm sure it was just my subconscious mind wishing I could be half as brave as my big brother." The sarcasm dripped from his words.

"You wish!" Dean grabbed his extra pillow and threw it at his still grinning brother. "Bitch! Go to sleep and save the WWE for the ladies… if you could ever meet one. Makes sense that you're dreaming about it…"

Dean rattled on proudly to himself. Sam was on it instantly though. "HA! Jerk! Shows what you know." He waited for Dean's full attention. "Who says I was alone after you left the restaurant pouting? Obviously you didn't notice the table in the corner."

Dean starred at his brother, stunned. He couldn't believe it was true and yet Sam had been gone a considerable amount of time… certainly time to have… In the next moment he knew he'd been played. He snatched his remaining pillow and offered his threat. Sam dared him to throw it with his expression.

Dean growled, crumbled the pillow in his arms and rolled away from his brother. "I knew you didn't get any."


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks for the welcome back, both alerts and comments... As I said, it was my first story in this arena. I know it has weaknesses... But, hopefully you'll enjoy it anyway!**

**And Sky5... Dean just strikes me as the type of guy who secretly or not, keeps up on his wrestling!**

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****Chapter Two…**

Dean left the room early the next morning, determined to oversee and encourage each aspect tire installation on his beloved Impala.

Sam took advantage of the time to stretch out and lounge in bed. Despite the extra time in the room, he still felt very tired. The rest didn't seem to be helping.

By midmorning he was just packing up when Dean bounded into the room. "Perfect timing. We can blow this town. Dad just sent me a new set of coordinates too. It's about six hours from here."

Sam scowled. He hated the way their father was using them, but if he mentioned it, he and Dean would fight. He wasn't in the mood. "Arf arf" was all he said, but quietly.

Dean heard the trained dog retort, but ignored it. The argument was getting old and he wasn't going to rehash it now. He grabbed a few things and made for the door. As he glanced over his shoulder, he expected to see Sam at his heel, but he wasn't. "Hey, come on… let's roll. We've got new tires to break in." He sounded like a kid at Christmas.

"I'm coming… lighten up." Sam scowled.

Dean bit his tongue and made for the car. He assumed the dream had bothered his brother more than he let on. It was standard protocol between them. Dean knew he'd wear Sam down eventually and they'd deal with it.

Sam followed behind, but much more slowly. Dean was already in the driver's seat when Sam slipped in beside him, wincing slightly. Dean studied him, concerned. Sam tried to force an innocent smile. "I must have slept wrong last night."

Dean snorted. "Flying tackles will do that to you."

Normally Sam used drive time to do as much research as possible. The laptop and various books were always kept within reach. Five miles out of town and he'd made no move to begin. When they were ten miles underway, Dean couldn't take it any more. "Look, I know you're pissed at dad. I get it, but can't you even try to help? He wouldn't send us somewhere if our help wasn't needed."

"Huh?" Sam had been staring out the window and barely registered Dean talking to him. He looked over to his brother for a repeat of his message, which would most likely be altered to contain a reprimand.

Dean saw instantly that Sam wasn't well. He was exceptionally pale, except for two small patches of bright red on his cheeks. He pulled over to the side of the road and checked for oncoming traffic.

"What are you doing?" Sam slurred.

"Look at me!" Dean demanded. When Sam didn't reply fast enough, he reached across and turned Sam's face toward him. "This explains your weird dream." He touched Sam's face lightly and recoiled at the waves of heat being eminated. Normally, he would stuff tylenol down Sam's throat and tell him to rest without puking on the seats. Something about Sam's state worried him though. This wasn't an average bug. It hit too fast.

Sam swatted Dean's hand away like a pesky gnat. "What are you talking about?"

Dean shook his head and chuckled. "Well, college boy, isn't it obvious? You're sick. You can't even track what I'm saying, can you? Damn." Dean clenched his teeth and rolled his head against the headrest. "It would just be too damn easy right now…"

Sam wasn't following the conversation. It was only when Dean put the car in gear and turned around that he found a question. "Where are we going?"

Dean muttered under his breath, angry at their recent luck. "You need to see a doctor."

"Since when?" Sam was instantly full of life. "No, I don't. We don't do doctors, remember?"

Dean's resolve was evident. "Yes, you do."

"I'm not that sick. Turn around. Dad's expecting us. I maybe have a bug, but I don't need a doctor." Sam pleaded, embarrassed that Dean was taking this step.

Dean shook his head. "I thought you were going to law school? Did you start in medical school?"

"Seriously, Dean... NO Doctors. There's no time. Let's just get going." He swallowed and added in his most appealing tone. "I'll sleep it off. I swear."

An hour later, Dean knew he'd been wrong. According to the map, the nearest hospital was back where they'd come from. He turned the car around. Sam was so out of it, he hardly noticed. He was curled into his side and biting his tongue to keep from moaning.

**…….. SPN……..**

Dean punched the button to retrieve his father's phone number. He punched another button and held his breath as he raised the phone to his ear and waited for the inevitable message. He would hear his father advising callers to contact his son. Dean only hoped his father would get this message and actually respond.

"Hey, Dad… I just wanted to let you know that we're not going to make it to those coordinates right away. I'm here at county hospital in LeBow, Iowa with Sam. He's sick… I mean… I'm sure he'll be fine, but you know doctors… The want to keep him until his fever comes down… um… I'll keep you posted."

Dean released the call just as a haggard looking doctor approached him. "We've got Sam settled on a ward, but…"

Dean jumped in. "A ward? Hey, if this is about money… My brother gets the best care, understand?" There was a clear edge to his voice.

The doctor swallowed but seemed at a loss for words. It was then clear to Dean the man was tired and he felt guilty for his outburst. He could almost feel the slap to the back of the neck Sam would have given him. "I'm sorry, you were saying?"

"You may have noticed we've got a serious epidemic going on right now. We're short staffed and it's easier if we keep the flu patients in the same ward. I assure you, he's getting the best care."

Dean nodded. "I'm sure he is…" He thought about an apology, but couldn't voice it. "Can I see him?"

The doctor smiled. "Normally, no… but that's why I came to get you. Your brother is quite agitated. He keeps asking for you and I was hoping you might be able to calm him down. What he needs now is rest."

Dean smiled. "If there's one thing I can do, its handle my kid brother. Lead on!" He gestured to the doors the man had just passed through. They walked in silence and stopped in front of a large room with a small antechamber.

"We're using all precautions. You'll need to gown up." The doctor handed him a paper-like blue bundle.

Dean raised an eyebrow, but did as instructed. As they dressed, he found he could hold back no longer. "Haven't I already been exposed?" He raised his arms in the paper gown to emphasize his point.

The doctor shrugged. "That's the problem. We can't track any patterns or incubation periods. We have to be safe."

Dean pulled down his mask to show his smile of support. "So, Sammy?"

The doctor gestured through the inner door. "First bed on the left."

Dean walked over and slipped confidently behind the curtains.

Sam lay restless under the covers. His body twitched with energy to flee, but his eyes remained focused on the corner of his curtained-off world. He didn't notice Dean's arrival. Sam was watching the sickly figure in the corner as if carrying out a silent, still battle.

"Hey, Sammy! Are you nuts? Why you acting like this? It's ok to be here. You're sick. Really sick." He added merrily. "Course, I've been telling you that for years."

Sam turned to find his brother at his bedside. His face filled with panic. "Get me out of here, fast!" He started to rise from the bed. He kept glancing to the corner, intending to keep himself between the sick demon and his brother. In lighter moments, he'd named the creature, Viralman.

Dean was filled with a different kind of fear from his brother's reaction. "Hey, slow down." He placed his hands on Sam's shoulders to steady him. "You need to get some rest, not run away. I mean seriously. I thought you were smart. Who's going to take better care of you? Me or all the pretty nurses?"

"You," whispered Sam, his voice filled with desperation.

Dean choked back his emotions and glanced at the doctor who hovered just outside the opening in the curtains. "Stop it. You're being ridiculous. Listen up! You need to settle in and get some sleep. Don't I always take care of you? Don't I always know what's best for you?"

"No." Sam smiled and his body relaxed some.

"I'll be right here, ok? I'm not going anywhere." Dean assured his brother.

Sam focused on Dean's eyes and words. He could always tell when his brother was lying, even in his current state. He saw truth. He relaxed further into the bed. Glancing around the area, he saw no further danger and he closed his eyes. Dean would protect him. Viralman was taking a break it seemed.

When it was clear Sam was asleep, the doctor stepped closer. "That's exactly what he needs. I'll have one of the nurses call you when he wakes up."

Dean's forehead wrinkled. "I'm not leaving. I told him I wouldn't."

The doctor shook his head. "I can't allow you to stay."

Dean stood up. "You don't have a choice. I told my brother I wasn't leaving and I never break my word to him. If you want me to leave, you better call in an army and you have to know it won't be pretty."

The doctor sighed behind his mask. "Try not to get in the way."

**…….. SPN……..**

Sam slept for a few hours at a time. Whenever he woke, Dean plied him with water or diluted apple juice. Despite the IV, one of the nurses said Sam needed as much fluid as possible.

As morning neared, Sam awoke to find Dean fast asleep in the nearby chair. A nurse happened by as Sam lay watching his brother and she poured more water into the cup. Dean heard the soft noise and sat up. "What's going on?"

She laughed through her mask. "You'll have to ask bright eyes." She helped Sam sip some water.

Dean saw what she meant. Sam's color was returning and he seemed calmer and more rational. "Welcome back, geek!"

The nurse slipped out and Dean leaned forward in his chair. "See, you needed a good night's sleep. We'll have you out of here in no time."

Sam was calm, but only on the surface. "Are you packing?"

Dean assumed it was a joke. "Sure, I'm always allowed to carry weapons into a hospital."

Sam swallowed. "Then you can't see him?"

Dean raised an eyebrow and mockingly looked around. "Nope, no one here but the Winchester boys. Hope the nursing staff survives!"

Sam closed his eyes, hoping when he opened them again it would be gone. He opened them and whispered, "it's still here."

"What?" Dean demanded, disappointed that Sam didn't actually seem to be better, worse perhaps.

"My dream? The creature… He's here… He's waiting for something…"

Dean glanced over his shoulder to see if a nurse was nearby to check Sam's condition. He nervously looked back to his brother. "Look, Sammy, you're sick. It's just your imagination. There's nothing here."

Sam's eyes filled with pain. "Why can't you ever just believe me?"

Dean did his best to ignore the poignancy of his brother's question. "Hey? Who do you think you're talking to? I've always got your back."

Sam looked away. "You never take my word for it. You always want proof. I practically have to beg."

"That's not true." Dean said defensively. "I was ready to jump back in the hotel, but it was nothing, remember? You even said it was just a dream."

"I changed my mind." Sam concentrated on the corner and began to rock in the bed.

"What's wrong? What did it do?" It was obvious to Dean his brother was watching something, even if it was in his own mind.

Sam's voice was filled with childish fear. "He's smiling… like he's planning something."

Dean's eyes darted to the same area searching for some sign or smell, no matter how faint. "What does he want?" The doctor's comments about the virus going around came back to him now as well.

"I don't know." Sam mumbled. Just then he was distracted by movement in the thing's hand. As it rose into the air, its smile grew. Suddenly, Sam saw the evil's intent. Its crooked finger pointed directly at Dean and began toward him.

Once again, Sam was determined to save his brother. In an instant he threw back his covers and leapt from the bed to push Dean out of the way. "It wants you." He shouted causing chaos all around the ward. "You have to get out of here."

Soon, Sam felt the familiar cold clamminess of last night, but this time on his back, just before he blacked out.


	3. Chapter 3

**When I started this on the train, it wasn't supposed to be more than a one shot... It got stubborn! Thanks for reading, commenting and alerts you've made. It's appreciated! **

**When last we left, Sam had again seen "Viralman" and was attempting to save Dean.**

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****Chapter Three… **

Dean felt his face smashed into the floor after his brother's body slammed into him. He rolled to his left, slipping out from under Sam, who was now limp. He pulled his unconscious brother into his arms and hugged him tightly to his chest. "You can fight this, Sammy." He murmured over and over. "You've got to."

Even after medical staff had pulled Sam from his embrace, Dean could still feel the tremble and heat of his brother's body. He quickly checked the equipment in his pockets. They'd showed no sign of supernatural action in the area. He needed to do something to help his brother. The waiting was killing them both.

**…….. SPN……..**

Daniel Menkins had wanted the slower pace of a small town medical practice. He'd never imagined he'd be the only one present to deal with an epidemic and of course, the CDC wasn't helping much. He'd once looked forward to a litany of chronic aches and pains from a population he considered family. He'd left the big city to find peace, not the exhaustion and frustration he now felt. He didn't look forward to dealing with Dean Winchester. "His fever is dangerously high and complications are developing."

Dean found himself asking questions, even though he really didn't want the answers. "Like what?"

Menkins sighed, delirium, as you saw... and his kidneys are showing signs of strain. His lungs are congesting as well."

"Pneumonia?" Dean whispered, thinking of the kids they'd saved from the life force sucking witch.

"It could develop." Menkins paused, seeing he didn't have Dean's full attention. When Dean finally made eye contact, he went on, hoping to give them both a shot of optimism. "Look, we're doing everything we can for him. We'll figure this out."

Dean nodded. The doctor was right; he would figure it out. In the back of his mind, something else nagged at his heart. It was a small absence, but acute nonetheless. He punched the buttons on his cell phone and tried again. "Dad… It's me again. Listen… this thing with Sam… It isn't a bug… He's…" Dean cleared his voice. "He's not doing well. I… I know what you're doing is important, but… I think…"

"I should be here." John Winchester spoke clearly as he stood behind his son.

Dean turned to him, stunned, the phone still in his hand. "Dad…"

John reached out and closed his son's cell phone. "Dean."

Relief rushed through Dean as he all but leapt into his father's embrace. "I'm so glad you're here. Sam's…" He pulled back. "He's really sick and he keeps getting worse."

John stepped back himself. The guilt was threatening to overpower him. "We'll get him back on his feet." He forced a confident smile. "Let's go see him." He had no idea how this meeting with his son would go or if Sam would even want to see him. His heart pounded in his chest.

Dean hesitated. "They're moving him to critical care." He watched his father carefully control his reaction and felt a small wave of relief from his father's strength. He was like a child again, believing his father could do anything. "And there's more."

Dean told his father all he knew about what Sam was seeing and what the doctor had said about the town's events. "I've never heard of this thing and I can't find anything in the books about it." He chuckled at a thought. "We could call it Viralman… But how do we kill it if we can't see it? Sam's too weak to keep fighting it."

John listened to his son's story, but was spared responding when a nurse directed them to Sam's new room. Dean visibly paled at the sight of his brother. John sucked in a breath at the same sight and hurried to his youngest son's side. Despite their words at last parting, his baby was suffering. He pulled a chair closer and fell onto it as he reached for Sam's hand. "I'm here, Sammy. Dad's here. Can you hear me son?" John stretched out his other hand and rested his palm on Sam's forehead. He almost winced at the radiating heat.

Despite the circumstances, Dean was vaguely proud of getting Sam to medical treatment quickly. If Sam had had his way, he might already be dead. Dean knew it was always best to follow his gut instincts.

Glancing around, John noticed a small basin and cloth on the side table. He released Sam's hand and dipped the cloth into the cool water. A slight scent tickled his nose. There was more in it than water, perhaps something to aide cooling. He bathed his son's head, neck and shoulders.

Dean watched as his father went about caring for his brother. With each loving movement he had to force his own emotions to remain at bay. His father made it look so easy. Didn't he see the litany of tubes connected to his brother's body? Didn't the mask delivering oxygen send an ominous chill through his father's body as it did his? Weren't the hairs on his father's neck tingling at the possible threat present in the room? His father was here and working. It brought him comfort. He allowed the first pangs of optimism to enter his heart at the sight of his father at his brother's side. Things were looking up in his mind. "Dad, what are we going to do about this thing?"

"Huh? What thing, Dean?" John wasn't really attending to anything but his youngest son.

Anger flashed within Dean, but as always with his father, he stifled it. "This thing? Viralman? Have you heard of it? How do we kill it?"

John heard the anxiety in Dean's voice. Guilt again washed over him. He'd always demanded so much from his eldest son. He'd entrusted Dean with Sam's care at a very young age, too young. "Dean, he's sick. You said so yourself. There are no signs." He saw instantly that his words weren't being taken well. He stretched out his hand. "Son, we spend so much time with evil, it's only natural Sam would imagine such things when he's sick. You said it. We've never seen anything like this. There's no evidence."

Dean's eyes were filled with uncertainty. "He's convinced its real. He thinks it's trying to hurt me. He keeps trying to save me."

John nodded. "Of course. That's why we're here for him." He glanced back and forth between his two sons, finally settling on the elder. "Look, you're beat. Why don't you get a hot meal and some decent sleep? I'll be with Sam."

Dean shook his head. "I'm not leaving."

John grew firmer. "Dean, Sam needs us to be strong. You're exhausted."

Dean wasn't swayed, so John pulled out the heavy artillery. "Didn't you say Sam thinks the thing is after you? If you take a break, he may rest easier."

Dean's face contorted with a mixture of emotions. "I…"

John stood and took Dean's shoulders in his hands. "Dean, I've always placed responsibility for Sam on you. I know it wasn't fair, but I'm here now. I'll keep him safe. I can see you need the rest. This is me caring for you too. Take the rest." As an afterthought, he added. "There's no shame in it."

That last line did the trick. Deep down, Dean needed to know he wouldn't lose his father's respect. "I…" He couldn't say more. He shrugged his shoulders and after a final glance to his brother, he left.

A few hours were all Dean could stand. It had felt good to eat a decent meal, but after a few hours, he knew he had to go back. He'd slept a bit, but visions of his brother compelled him back.

He stood outside Sam's room and watched as his father suddenly leaned in. There was no panic in the action. Dean assumed his brother was awake.

Slightly twitching fingers alerted John that his son was waking. He felt selfishly glad he could indulge in a few minutes alone with Sam. "Sam? Son? Can you hear me? It's dad. I'm here." He pulled Sam's hand to his chest. "I'm here and you're going to be fine. Can you open your eyes for me?"

Sam's brain was fuzzy at best, but words were penetrating. Commands…_ It sounded like his father's voice… No, his father wasn't around. It was ordering him to open his eyes though. That was like dad. He wanted to. He wanted to open his eyes and know the whole thing had been a dream, but he was afraid. What if Viralman was only playing with him?_

"Sam, open your eyes son."

Sam no longer cared. He wanted to see his father, real or imagined. He opened his eyes and his father's face swam into focus. "Dad?" He croaked through his mask. "Really you?" They'd been searching for months and here he was. It was too easy.

John beamed. "It's me. I'm here, son."

Sam visibly relaxed. A small smile spread under the opaque oxygen mask.

"That's it, Sam. You just need to rest and relax so you can beat this thing." John squeezed Sam's hand.

Panic flashed in Sam's eyes. They darted around the room. "Dean?" Sam was stretching his voice to be sure he was heard above the mask.

John smiled. "That brother of yours is one tough son of a gun. I had to use all my tricks to get him to leave." He sobered. "He's been with you all along. He needed the rest."

"Not sick?" Sam pleaded for relief with his words and eyes.

"No, of course not, geek. I'm fine." No one had noticed Dean step into the room. He smiled broadly at his kid brother. "Viralman doesn't want me. He's playing with you."

Sam sighed with relief and closed his eyes for a moment. He opened them and drew in as deep a breath as possible, but began to cough. When he was resettled, his eyes were serious. "How do we stop him?"

John exchanged nervous glances with his eldest son. "Ah… Sam… you're sick. I think this is just your imagination working over time. There's just no evidence." He cleared his throat and added. "Dean's checked the books and the room, there's nothing."

Sam tensed up. "So I'm imaging him?" The hurt in Sam's voice was clear. "You never believe me either." He whispered. The old hurt over why he'd once left loomed between them.

Dean jumped to ease his brother's anxiety. "Sammy, it's just that we can't fight what we can't see. What more can you tell us?"

Sam turned his face away and saw the demon lurking in the corner, all too near Dean. He didn't notice the monitors around him beginning to sound alarms as his pulse rate rose. "Dean… go… I can't…" He knew he wouldn't be able to intercept it this time. He simply didn't have the strength.

"Sam?" Dean shouted. "Don't… It's provoking you. It's teasing you now, right?" Dean scanned the area where his brother's eyes focused. "It has to be how it's making you sicker. It feeds on your anxiety."

"Knock it off, Dean. Don't feed this. It's not what your brother needs." John turned to look for medical staff to help his son.

Dean stared at his father, filled with disappointment. He finally had a taste of Sam's feelings for their father. After all, Dean always had known what was best for Sammy. "He's right. You never trust him."

"Dean! Your brother is sick. This isn't helping. That thing doesn't exist." John couldn't believe he was arguing with Dean over this.

Dean shook his head. "Don't you see? It doesn't matter. Sam believes it's trying to hurt me and that makes it real to him. That's all I need to know."

Sam's anxiety increased with everything going on around him. The monitors now wailed loudly and Sam tossed on the bed. He had eyes only for the monster bearing down on his brother. "Dean…"

John glanced back and forth between his sons and suddenly left the room. Dean jumped into the space vacated by his father and took Sam's hand. "Calm down, Sammy… Sam. You have to calm down. This is what he wants. Every time you get upset, you get sicker. He's taunting you. You have to help me here, bro."

Sam turned his head back and stared at his brother just as the cold, clammy touch reached his chest. His lungs shut down and a massive seizure ripped through his body.

"SAM!" He continued to shout his brother's name, even after he'd been shoved from the room.

**…….. SPN……..**

Dean's own heart thundered in his chest as he paced the hallway outside the door. He dodged medical staff coming in and out, but got no glimpse or information on Sam's condition. His only comfort was that the activity meant his brother was still alive. He couldn't begin to let the departure of his father enter the picture or he might implode from the anger.

"Here!" John Winchester suddenly appeared and slammed a packet into Dean's hands. "We need to reload them."

"What?" Dean had no idea where his father had been or what he currently intended. "I'm not… Sam's…" He firmed his footing and stood up to his father. "Where the hell have you been? Sam's…" He swallowed and then whispered. "dying" He hated admitting the truth.

John's eyes flashed with anger. "You're going to just stand there and let your brother die? Haven't I taught you anything?" He scanned the hallway and saw an option. He grabbed Dean's arm and pulled him into the custodial closet.

He gestured to the package in Dean's hand. "Start filling those cartridges."

Dean finally opened the bag and found many vials. "What are these? What exactly are you planning?"

"Listen, I don't know if this thing exists or not, but if it does, we owe it to Sam to fight it." John was busy winding a silencer onto the end of his gun. When Dean didn't immediately jump to action, he grabbed the vials and began opening them.

"You don't believe him, but we're filling tranquilizer pellets with?" Dean began to pull the ends off of the small bullets and dumped the contents into a nearby mop bucket.

"Antibotics. These were the strongest I could steal. If this thing is sick and spreading it, I figure if we fire these at him, we can free Sam." John began filling the rounds.

Dean was lost in his emotions. His hands automatically did the work his father asked, but his mind was reeling. He wanted to be angry with his father for disappearing when Sam needed him most, when they both did, and yet his father had left to give Sam a fighting chance. Maybe he should have done more? As usual, his father was steps ahead of him.

John worked swiftly, but studied his son. The burden of his brother's care was one Dean took seriously and this battle had been long and too hard on him. He was walking a fine line. John only hoped he wouldn't lose both his sons to this potentially imaginary foe. "We get Sam to wake up and we track his eyes, where ever he looks, we shoot."

Dean gulped hard and forced the tears out of his eyes. "What if we can't wake him up?"

"Sam will wake up when we tell him to." John confidently insisted. "Let's go."


	4. Chapter 4

**As usual, your support in all forms is greatly appreciated. Without further ramble, here's the end. I hope it meets your expectations.**

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They waited outside the room for the doctor to finally appear and update them on Sam's condition. Menkins' report was dire, but both Winchesters ignored the prognosis, knowing Sam was not prone to giving up. He'd fight and now they could support him together. Menkins didn't try to limit their access as he should have. He'd early on learned the Winchester family wasn't to be deterred, so he said nothing as they both entered Sam's room.

A nurse worked behind a glass wall in the corner. Dean knew it connected to several other rooms so the nurse could monitor several patients at once. She smiled reassuringly at them. He only wished it would help.

For hours they sat with Sam, talking to him, telling him stories, but he remained unresponsive. Both of the elder Winchesters ignored the additional monitors and the tube which now pushed air into Sam's lungs. John, sitting at Sam's side, also ignored the wheeze that followed each time oxygen was expelled. He refused to acknowledge how helpless he was feeling.

"Dad…" Dean was pacing the end of the room. "He's not…"

John whirled to face his eldest. "Stop it! Don't! Don't you give up on him."

"Look at HIM! He's dying… and it's our fault." Dean began shouting, but ended in a whisper.

John closed his eyes as his son's pain and grief descended upon him. "Don't… Dean this isn't your fault. You… You got him here. You got him help." He added with a guilt laden voice. "Sooner than I would have brought him."

Dean shook his head, staring at the rise and fall of his brother's chest. "No… I should have believed him. I should have thought of a way to kill it and done it days ago. If I had, he wouldn't be so…"

"And what about me? Shouldn't I be the one feeling responsible? I still don't believe this thing actually exists… I was off doing who knows what when… I wasn't here. Haven't been here for you boys." Emotion choked the words from John. He pulled Sam's hand between both of his. He couldn't say more to Dean. He couldn't face the truth he'd come to know when he looked in Dean's anxious eyes. "Come on Sam. You need to do this for us… Open your eyes. All you have to do is open your eyes and we'll end this for you." He pleaded with his still son.

They sat in silence for a few more minutes. John Winchester always prided himself on his ability to remain calm in the worst of circumstances. It didn't mean he wasn't angry or upset, only always in control of his reactions. He'd tried to teach his sons the same skill. It came in handy in their line of work.

Dean seemed in control most of the time, unless it involved his brother. Sam had never seemed interested in it. Sam wore his heart most often on his sleeve. Sometimes John had wondered how he and Mary could have created such vastly different children. He knew it was exactly this thought that caused the problems between him and his youngest son. He had a hard time accepting the differences. It wasn't fair. He knew it. He didn't like accepting how so like his mother Sam was. It meant his son was as vulernable.

Images of his young family, prior to Mary's death flooded his mind. He saw each of his son's births and Mary's radiant smile as she held them. Mary had been the only one who knew how John treasured time with his sons. He longed for nothing more than rocking them in the large chair as they drifted off to sleep. She was the glue for their family, because she understood them all, even Sam as just an infant. She already saw how different their boys were, but had still encouraged their bond.

At least he'd done that right.

He blinked away the memories and looked over to his eldest son and then to his baby boy. Sam hated the reference, but it was a simply truth. He would always be the baby of the family. How was it the last child always became the focus of the family? The great unifier? No matter what their arguments or differences of opinion, he and Dean had always had a common bond for Sam. Sometimes the lines between brother and father had blurred and John knew it. He knew Mary would be forever on his case about that if she could be.

He glanced again at Dean, wondering if they could survive the loss. The truth hit John like lightening and it angered him. He'd never once considered losing either of his sons. He fought too hard for them.

"SAMUEL WINCHESTER, OPEN YOUR EYES!"

"Dad, what the hell are you doing?" Dean didn't recall a time he'd so openly disagreed with his father. He briefly wondered if it was Sam's influence. "You can't order him to wake up."

John wasn't about to be questioned by his son, especially when what he'd done had been nothing less than an emotional outburst. He was almost embarassed. "We can't sit here doing nothing."

"So shouting at him is the right thing to do?" Dean reasoned, still stunned his father could shout at Sam under these circumstances.

"Do you have a better idea?"

A gurgled laugh stopped them both and they looked to the bed. Sam's eyes were open and despite the tube in his mouth, it was obvious he was trying to laugh.

"Sammy! This isn't funny. You've had us worried sick." Dean reprimanded his brother from the end of the bed as if nothing had happened. To cover his emotion, he added. "How long have you been faking?"

John smiled; proud his outburst hadn't been for nothing. "Sam, it's good to see your eyes, son."

Sam's eyes weren't intending to stay open for long. Somewhere in the depths of the darkness he had been swimming in, he heard his family arguing. He'd fought the darkness in order to see them one last time. He didn't expect any more. He'd long ago lost the strength to fight.

As his eyes fluttered closed, he caught a brief glimpse of the entity tormenting him. It hovered in the corner as always. For the brief moment that fear overtook him, his eyes flashed open and he glared at the thing, daring it to move against the remaining Winchesters. He knew he didn't have the strength to win, but it wouldn't defeat his father and brother. With that confidence, his lids slid shut again. In that same moment, the cold, clamminess returned to his body. He knew this would be it. It was somehow easier knowing his family was there with him. His only regret was the inability to tell them that.

John knew his son wouldn't be able to tell them where the thing was, so he watched Sam's eyes closely. As soon as he saw the fear flash through them, he pulled out his weapon and tracked their direction to the corner of the room. "There!" He pointed to the corner and fired.

Dean also pulled out his air-powered tranquilizer gun, loaded with the antibiotic cartridges and fired in the same vicinity.

Under normal circumstances the noise would have alerted medical staff, but the sounds of the particular weapons used, were deadened by the various warning monitors that began to cry as they ended their shots.

Both Winchester men looked to the bed and simultaneously stuffed their weapons away, just as medical staff began filing in. They moved swiftly to the back of the room where they'd just fired in order to both hide and search the damage. Neither man's eyes left the bed where Sam was surrounded by people forcing life back into his body.

Tears rolled freely down John's cheeks. "I was too late."

Dean shook the thought off. "We don't know that. Don't give up on him. He can do this." Whereas he'd held the doubt a few minutes ago, he knew it had been wrong. He had to trust his little brother, at least this once.

They held their breaths as the minutes ticked by, feeling like hours. The tension was growing in Dean's chest. His body squirmed at the pressure, wishing there was something he could do. To himself he mumbled, "Sammy, if you die, I swear I'm carving 'Sammy' on your headstone. Don't do this. Fight, Geek, Fight!"

He glanced over to his father, forcing his eyes to look away as the doctor applied yet another shock to Sam's now exposed chest. He knew things weren't resolved between his father and brother. Sam couldn't die before then or it would kill his father too. "DAMN IT SAMMY! GET YOUR ASS BACK IN THIS GAME!"

The order spilled from his mouth before he could stop it. Several nurses hovering nearby finally noticed the Winchesters in the corner and moved to usher them out.

Dean slapped the woman's hand away as she attempted to guide him out. "I'm not leaving and you can't make me."

Just as she turned to seek help from the father, a magical, rhythmical, beeping filled the room. Sam's heart was beating on its own. Dean gasped and his father let go the breath he'd been holding. "Neither of us is going anywhere but to my son." He pushed passed the woman and got nearer to Sam's bed.

Doctor Menkins looked to the two men. "He's quite a fighter, this one."

Both men nodded in agreement.

**Epilogue…**

_**"GET YOUR ASS BACK IN THIS GAME!"**_

Two days later, Sam was returned to the breathing mask. The nurses had shown John and Dean how to manipulate Sam's back to break up the congestion in his chest. He hadn't woke or shown the remotest sign of waking, but he was steadily improving and that's all the two men needed at the moment.

_**"GET YOUR ASS BACK IN THIS GAME!"**_

John had pulled Sam's limp body forward to rest on his as Dean slipped in behind him and pounded on his back. "Who would have thought I'd get to legitimately beat up on my kid brother?" He mused as his fist pounded.

John chuckled. "Just don't get carried away. It stops when he's better. Got it?"

"Gee, dad. You think I enjoy pounding on him?" Dean grinned.

_**"GET YOUR ASS BACK IN THIS GAME!"** _The phrase repeated itself over and over in Sam's darkness. _**"GET YOUR ASS BACK IN THIS GAME!"**_

"That's enough for now." John teased. "I think you're enjoying this too much."

"Fine, next time you get to pound on him." Dean added, pulling his brother back away from his father. He couldn't help but cradle him against his own chest for a moment. "Don't tell me you're not itching at a chance to pound on your insolent son."

'_Insolent?'_ John wondered at the vocabulary Dean had acquired. He'd obviously spent a lot of time with his brother recently.

"Goood…" Came a hoarse whisper.

Dean grinned, thinking it had been his father speaking. "See, you do want the chance to pound on him."

John was beaming, but not at Dean. Dean followed his father's eyes and glanced down to see Sam's eyes half open and his lips moving under the mask. "Sammy!" He slid out from behind him, while ensuring he settled back on the bed gently. "You're awake, dude!" He realized how excited he sounded and knew it was giving too much away. "It's about damn time. Do you know what you've put us through?"

Sam rolled his eyes and then closed them, falling back asleep.

**…….. SPN……..**

Sam groaned and rolled his head away from the offending spoon. "Sammy, the doc says you don't leave until you're stronger. That means eating, so open up, bitch."

Knowing Dean was baiting him just to get his mouth open, he answered through gritted teeth. "I'm full." He knew it was a risk, but he had to add. "Jerk."

Dean raised an eyebrow and leaned back. "After two spoonfuls? I don't think so. Come on! Open up for the broth train."

Sam merely scowled. He remained resolved until a coughing fit curled him into a ball.

Dean was instantly hovering, pounding gently on Sam's back. "Come on… let it out Sam. It'll pass."

Tears of pain fell from the corners of Sam's eyes and once the spell had passed, he collapsed back onto the pillows. He opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it. He was tired of whining and he was sure his brother was sick of hearing him whine.

"Sam, it's getting better." Dean offered, knowing how frustrated his brother was with this illness.

Sam closed his eyes, preparing to sleep.

"Oh no you don't. You have to stay awake longer. It's been less than an hour since you woke." Dean poked at his brother's arm.

Sam lamely swatted his brother's hand away. "I'm tired. Don't I need my rest?"

"Food first." Dean held up a spoon. "Come on. You think I like feeding you?"

That did it. Sam's eyes opened. "I can feed myself."

Dean laughed. "Sure… right… it was real successful last night." Dean considered the event a moment. "I guess it was worth it though. You did get a sponge bath from that little hottie on the night shift." His grin grew. "Is that your plan? Cuz' I don't think she's workin' tonight."

Sam rolled his eyes and shook his head. "You're welcome to trade places with me if you'd like them."

He made the offer in jest, but Dean's reply was eerily serious. "I would have if I could have little brother. I would have."

"Would have what?" asked John as he entered both the room and conversation. In his arms he carried brown bags which smelled suspiciously of food.

"Eaten what's in the bag." Sam answered, wanting to change the mood. "Anything for me?" He asked optimistically.

John studied his son with paternal skepticism. "Doubt it. It doesn't look to me like you've eaten your dinner, so why get a treat?"

"Daaad!" Sam complained, while Dean chuckled and dove into the bags.

Sam hadn't been up to the conversation father and son needed to have. It hung between them, ignored until both were ready for it. Then again, he hadn't been awake enough to broach it either.

"Don't give in to the whiner." Dean demanded as he withdrew several french fries.

John winked at his youngest. "We'll see." He took out a wrapped burger from another bag. "I ran into Doctor Menkins in the hall. He says you're doing well. You might even be losing the IV if you'd start eating and drinking soon."

All three knew this meant they'd be springing Sam and overseeing his recuperation in their own way. Or at least Dean would. He'd sensed the growing tension in his father. He knew it was all he could do to remain. Either evil or this secret path called him elsewhere as always. He was stunned he'd stuck around this long.

Sam knew a paternal lecture when he got one. He frowned and after glancing into the corner, finally asked. "So, aren't you two the least bit worried about my care, since the room is falling apart?" He pointed to the corner, where there were several holes in the wall.

Dean and John followed his gaze. "That was us."

Sam rolled his eyes. "You got bored and decided to shoot the place up? Geez, what are you guys… ten?"

Dean stood with righteous indignation. "Hey! We were protecting your ass, you little ingrate. Say, thank you."

Sam looked confused. "Saving my ass from what? Something tried to get me in here?"

John and Dean looked at each other in equal confusion. "You mean you don't remember the demon, son?"

Sam raised an eyebrow. "What demon? All I know is I've been whacked out with this fever for days. I didn't know my own name. Did you get whatever it was?"

"We think so. You tell us." Dean asked.

"How can I tell you?" Sam looked back and forth between his family members.

"Do you see Viralman?" Dean asked. "The demon that was trying to kill you?"

"Viralman? Look guys, I don't know what you're talking about. I don't see anything, nor do I remember seeing anything."

Dean grew angry with his brother. "The thing from your nightmare, back in the hotel?"

Sam narrowed his eyes in concern. "Dean… that was a nightmare. You know… like people get. I'm sure dad got you a 45 when you had them too."

Dean wasn't satisfied. "So you mean to tell me, you don't remember begging me to believe that you were being stalked by a monster only you could see? You BEGGED me to believe you. Accused me… us… of never trusting you… And you don't remember it?"

Sam slowly shook his head.

Dean was about to lunge, but John waved him back. "Dean, your brother's been sick. You can't blame him."

"Is that why you shot up the corner of my room? Did you hit anything?" Sam asked, still trying to understand and not the least bit worried about Dean's anger.

"We don't know." John said softly.

"How can you not know?" Sam asked.

"BECAUSE WE DON'T, OK?" Dean shouted. He smiled at the nurse who looked up and made to come into the room.

John sighed. "We can't find all the slugs in the wall. So we may have hit something."

"But we can't tear the wall apart to look either, so we have to assume we killed your freakin' imaginary demon."

Sam swallowed, looking as innocent as possible. "Sorry."

Dean shot him a dirty look. "Nerd!" It was obvious his frustration was no where near over.

John smiled at his sons. Life was already returning to normal and that meant he was safe to be off as well.

When next Sam woke, Dean was alone in the room. "Dad had to go."

Sam's eyes narrowed. "_Had_ to go?" He gulped air. "Did he tell you where he was going or what he was up to?"

Dean stood and went to the window in order to avoid his brother's questions. He was well schooled in the tactics. "It's nice they've kept you in the same room this long, but..." He coughed. "So, you ready to lose that bed?"


End file.
